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Synopsis:Remy LeBeau finds
himself fascinated by an Alex Krycek. He challenges him to a fight in the
Arizona desert to start, what he hopes, is the beginning of a beautiful
friendship. Note:This was originally
the log for a thread between Grygon and Shael on the PBeM RPG Fight Club
Unlimited (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FCUnlimited/)

Remy absently traced the
number 3 tattoo that graced his right temple as he leaned one elbo against
a knee. He watched the crowds, the one surrounding him and the one
below at the foot of the stairs looking like a busy ant pile.

He had called Alex Krycek to meet him here where
he had challenged him over a pay phone. If he showed then he had
accepted it. A busy mall. An opponent he had not yet challenged,
not yet got to know, but had only seen in the audiences of busy basements
or warehouses. Today and tomarrow he planned to get the man real good.
Real good.

He was partly fighting anxiety. He had
waited too long to act on his feelings and instincts and now this Alex
Krycek had become something of an obsession, something that a young girl
might call a crush. Remy LeBeau did not have "crushes", yet he had trouble
keeping his index finger from twitching as it traced the slightly raised
tattoo on his temple.

Remy turned, seeing a familiar appearance of
black jeans and leather in his peripheral vision. He waited for the
man to approach closer, the crowded mall much too noisy to speak and be
heard unless within touching distance.

"Mr. LeBeau." With no wasted movement,
Alex Krycek shook Remy's hand, noting the Cajun accent and already assessing
his opponent's potential weaknesses. His left artificial one stayed
stiffly at his side. A one armed assassin was considered a liability
by many, but the fact that he was still alive five years after the arm's
loss was a testament to his skills. He had survived the Consortium,
alien possession, crude amputation, and various beatings by one time allies
and enemies. By comparison most times the fights he fought were boring.

It was the artificial arm that had lead him
to the underground fighting ring. The rewards could be astounding.
Unable to trust any cure or cloned arm the Consortium might provide with
their purloined alien technology, Krycek had been forced to search for
alternatives. And the rumors of medical technology that could replace
the crude mechanical hand had been enough for him to submit to a tattoo
of a 42 next to his right earlobe.

"So," Krycek said, sharp green eyes taking in
LeBeau. He hadn't seen this man's fighting style yet, which was a
disadvantage. But Krycek had an uncanny knack for turning disadvantages
into golden opportunities. Defeating him would be a challenge that Krycek
was looking forward to, and would bring him one step closer to his goal.
"When shall we get it on?"

Remy smirked. Alex Krycek's stiff stance,
measuring attitude and all-business personality spoke volumes. He
was in it for the benefits, not for the kink. Remy wasn't in it for
the benefits, as a thief he had enough to back himself up whenever he chose.
He was in it for the social 'aspects'. And it gave him something
to do.

Remy produced two plane tickets. "If y'
t'ink y' can wait a few hours, we shall get it on in the Arizona desert
at 2 PM." Remy added a wink to that smirk planted on his face and
turned to lead the way.

The air port wasn't far so Remy took the sidewalks,
taking the extra time to see if all-business personality would open up
a bit more. He was weathered, Remy knew that from past audiences
when he had watched Alex and ignored the fight. He was also mysterious
and constantly cloaked. Remy itched to scratch past those facades,
tear the man down until he was raw, and human, and unable to hide.

"Mind if I ask about de arm?" Remy kept
his voice a bit low, uncertain he should be asking personal questions so
soon.

Krycek's response was equally low. "Yes."
It had been all Fox Mulder's fault. He had been working towards getting
them out of the camp when the impatient special agent had pulled the great
escape, leaving him alone in the forrest. Or until the one armed
men had found them. Thinking they were saving him from the horrors
of medical experimentation (experimentation he had helped set up), they
had rescued him the only way they knew how. They removed the smallpox
vaccination scar with its tracking genetic marker by removing his left
arm.

They were surprised at his ingratitude.
And even more surprised when he returned with soldiers from the camp who
eliminated them with extreme prejudice.

Although he used it to his advantage now.
People saw the artificial arm and underestimated him. But they didn't make
that mistake twice. And his anger at both the misguided peasants
and Fox Mulder had fueled more than one of his victories. LeBeau
vaguely resembled Mulder by a stretch of the imagination, but it would
be enough for him to work with.

Remy perked a brow. Though he wasn't sure
what else he had expected, more and more this man was resembling Scott
and Logan. Strong, silent... and annoying the hell out of Remy with
that attitude. He had broken Logan's shell though, and he was rubbing
his mental hands together in glee at another challenge.

Cutting across a well-worm path in the middle
of a grassy median the silence was grating into Remy's ears. He had
never been one to stay silent for long, a minor weakness of his was that
busy mouth on his pretty face.

"Cajun moon, nugget of gold, river of light
on the bayou ..." He trailed off, humming the rest of the chorus
before breaking out his deck of cards. "Y' like games, monsieur Krycek?"
He expected another short answer, and had another short question ready
for the blurting.

Pulled out of his thought of exactly how he
was going to get past the security checkpoint with his weapons still on
him, Krycek let out a sardonic chuckle. "Would I be playing this
one if I didn't?" That was what had lead him partially to become
a double agent. It was all a game if you looked at it the right way
- he was nothing more than an actor in a role that could mutate or be shed
at a moment's notice. But remember exactly who he was when he stepped
away from the stage was getting harder and harder to do.

He eyed the cards LeBeau was fanning, wondering
if they were marked. His deck would be. If the man did cheat,
all the more excuse to make certain that he won the upcoming fight.
A game of cards was definitely sounding like the best way to pass the time
until their flight. "What did you have in mind? Poker?"

Remy laughed. "I fear de game o' poker
prefered by dis cajun ain't allowed on public flights. But we can
make do wit' de regular sort o' poker if y' insist." Crossing a two-lane
street full of parked cars and into the large doors of the airport.

"Perfect timing," Remy glanced at the wall full
of clocks. Their flight was due off the ground 5 minutes ago.
Without luggage, and with friends in the friendly skies, Remy led Krycek
right up to the main gate for the flight. "Merci, petite."
A small kiss for the red head and he strolled down the long aisle to where
it jointed with their plane.

First class, luxery 'family' seats that faced
one another, and right next to the windows. Remy buckled in and glanced
up and across the roomy, but small, floor between them. "Comfy, Poker?"

As he buckled the safety belt, Alex had to admit
he was impressed with how they had gotten on the plane. And flying
first class certainly beat some of the ways he had traveled. Although
the time he had parachuted into the remote mountains would have been fun
if he hadn't been worried about being shot on sight by the Cigarette Smoking
Bastard...

Lowering the tray table, he gestured to his
soon to be opponent. "Go ahead and deal." It would give him
time to watch him move. Which Alex had to admit as well that LeBeau
was easy on the eyes.

Remy smirked and shrugged one shoulder, cards
expertly shuffled in one hand and dealt out in three breaths.

This was one card game he couldn't take seriously,
the stupid tray was blocking Remy of what he had known would be a fine
view of Alex' abdomen and crotch, restrained by a secure belt...
Man wore those pants about as tight as his X suite.

"So what we playing fo? Favor in de fight,
or after de fight. Or...?" He opened his cards in a fan, carressing
each with a finger tip to straighten them in their neat row.

"A freeze?" A freeze usually standing
for when an opponent was forced to stand for any given amount of time and
take what came at him without defense.

"You do like high stakes, Remy." Alex
watched his hands knowingly handle the cards. It didn't take much
of a stretch of the imagination to think what else they could knowingly
handle.

Alex had to force his mind away from that pleasant
speculation. "Shall we say...five minutes to be called at the winner's
discretion?" That was the customary time for a freeze. Any
longer and the fight would only be a fight in name. The point was
to prove your toughness, not to just beat the crap out of an unresisting
opponent. The person calling the freeze could employ a little strategy
- either call it right away to break their combatant, or save it for when
he needed to regain the upper hand.

Remy turned a knowing tip-of-the-mouth smile
back to his cards, "Ain't no stakes if dey aren't high, mon ami.
Five minutes at de winner's discretion it is."

"Petite," he stopped a passing flight attendant
with a hand to her elbo. "Y' know what I like. An' bring Monsieur
Krycek what he desire."

Remy went back to studying his hand, eliminating
three cards and drawing three more. The flight attendant cast a smile
towards Alex. "Will you be having anything, sir? Open bar."

"Vodka on the rocks." He hoped that they
were serving a proper Russian brand and not the swill that most American
bars served. Glancing over his hand, he discarded one and drew another.
And it was hard to keep a straight face as he looked at the straight flush
he was holding. Lady Luck was definitely smiling on him today.

For a moment, he debated asking if LeBeau wanted
to raise the stakes even more. But it wouldn't do to press his luck too
much. With a slight smirk, he revealed his cards, confident that
he had the higher hand.

Remy returned the smirk, though kept his hand
until his drink and Krycek's appeared beneath their noses by a silent whisper
of air and perfume. Laying his hand out revealed a flush of lower
card value, it was then that his smirk faded, though good humor still shone
in his red eyes.

"Be careful wit' dat game face mon ami, I might
try it on." He gathered his pack of cards, absently shuffling and
flipping with his right hand while he undid his seat belt to kick back
a bit more (the plane already well above the clouds). Reaching one
leg out he tipped Krycek's tray table back up into it's wall slot.

"Vodka, I would have known." He studied
Krycek's face for a moment. "It good?"

Krycek took a slip of his drink, his eyes closing
in bliss as proper Stolichnaya Vodka slid over his tongue. "Excellent.
Almost as good as the stuff you get in St. Petersburg." He wouldn't be
able to drink too much of it. He'd need his wits about him since
he intended to win the upcoming fight and claim his prize. And maybe
something more, he thought, bright green eyes studying LeBeau's handsome
face, something more.

*zzzzziiiiizzzzzzzziiiiiiiiizzzzzziiiiiiiiip*
(fast forward)

Remy stretched tall and slightly out like
he owned the world, like he was God's own gift to His creations, like a
lion just finishing a meal... like Remy, as he walked out of the Arizona
air port and into a blistering heated breeze.

Now to find a piece of desert they could fight
in peace amongst. Remy walked out into traffic and threw up a hand
for a taxi. Why no ask the experts of the town.

"City limits?" When the man nodded Remy
sat back in the seat. This time not so stretched out as he felt the
heat absorbing all thoughts but two: 'fightgrinfight', and 'coldcoldcold-itisnothotitiscold!
fuckwhatwasithinking...'

Finally giving in to need to slip off his jacket,
Krycek was thinking that black leather and denim had not been the best
choice. It was an oven out there, something that would quickly sap
their strength unless they found a shady place. But where there was
shade there was usually people, so fighting under the hot sun was looking
likely.

Or maybe not. "Are there any ghost towns
nearby?" he asked the driver. Although some were marketed for tourists,
he had remembered seeing some when passing through areas up further north
towards the Nevada border.

Clever man. Glad he had left his trench
coat on his bed at 'home' Remy wondered why people came here to live at
all.

After the driver nodded and named off a few
that "would take a bit" to get to Remy grinned. "Maybe Alaska woulda
been a better choice, non?" And after this stiffling heat, he'd gladly
return to those harsh hands of yearly winter.

"Been to Canada, up near the border" Krycek
mentioned, a humorous glint in his green eyes. "We'd be complaining
about freezing our balls off instead."

"Say, mon ami about dat 'gon' take a while'
bus'ness, I t'ink y' and me both want outa dis heat as soon as possible.
Green house effect an all?" He slipped a wad of cash that wasn't
his over the seat, rewarded by a suddenly lead foot from the driver.

Alex leaned back in the seat of the car, smiling
smugly. He found himself really liking Remy. This man definitely
knew how to get things done. Had they met under different circumstances,
they could have been good friends. There was nothing saying they
couldn't be either, after the business at hand was completed.

The cab sped onward past the city limits for
about half an hour. Eventually they pulled off the main freeway onto
a dusty side road. Another fifteen minutes lead them to a stand of
abandoned and crumbling buildings that looked like no one had lived in
them since the fifties. He allowed a small grin of approval.
This was exactly what he had in mind.

Remy grinned. This definetly had some
qualities and advantages he looked forward to exploring. A little
hide and seek, a little taunt and play, and definetly some broken walls
from a few bruised backs... He headed for some shade, ignoring the cliche
warm breeze that pushed a bouncing tumble weed across his path.

"Y' ready podna?" His tee shirt was loose
and untucked but he was still feeling the heavy sun bearing down on him.
He quickley rolled the short sleeves up past his shoulder and to the neck
line. Ready for business he took something of a relaxed stance, waiting
to see what position Krycek took.

Having paid the cab driver and watched him drive
off, Krycek also took a deceptively relaxed stance, balancing lightly on
the balls of his feet. In the direct sun, he was definitely rethinking
wearing all black. But unlike Remy, he didn't roll up his sleeves.
Now it was time to get down to business and see what he was made of.

"Yeah, I'm ready. You?" Without
warning, Alex bolted forward, leading with his right arm in a vicious punch
aimed at Remy's jaw.

Remy had dodged bullets in the rain before (or
at least it was rumored). The heat, he mused as he took the punch,
must be slowing his senses to some dieing crawl.

"Dat was nasty homme," as he crouched and swung
a leg straight out at Krycek's knees. "Let de face be." As
Krycek went down under his feet he aimed a fist at his abdomen. Gawd,
sculpted, rock hard...

Alex grunted as he landed on his ass, and let
out a loud 'oof' as Remy's fist impacted on his stomach. Instead
of trying to shirk from the blow, he took it, his good right hand snaking
out to catch his opponent's wrist. He kicked up with his legs, catching
Remy in the stomach. But instead of a solid kick, it was a shove,
sending the mutant flying over his body. And his legs didn't
stop. He rolled over, regaining his feet, almost instantly turning
around, looking for Remy.

Remy rolled once he hit the ground, gathered
his legs beneath him and launched himself at the recovering Krycek.
"Guess I'm jus' head over heels fo y'," he grinned, sending a leg
flying at Krycek's chest and a fist full of dirt at his face.

His opponent was good, and Remy's attitude was
infectious. Or he had inadvertently picked up Mulder's habit of making
wry comments. "Now don't fight dirty." Krycek had meant to
deflect the kick, twisting Remy's leg as the mutant fell to the ground.
But his timing was off as he missed the grab and the kick landed a glancing
blow to his chest. It was still enough to knock the wind out of Krycek
and drop him to the ground. Alex landed on his left side, jarring
the artificial arm slightly loose.

Remy landed standing akimbo over Alex' face,
bending his knees he sat hard on the man's chest. Taking his chin
in one hand he squeezed and turned Krycek's face towards him. "Y'
don' wanna see me fight dirty." He had left all cards, knives, and
mutant powers back home. But a hand full of charged dirt, even Krycek's
own shirt could become a weapon at one touch.

Grabbing at an arm, and forgetting about the
prosthetic (Krycek fought well without out, Remy really had let slip his
mind), he jerked as he stood, planning on sending Krycek for a painful
dislocation of wrist or shoulder. Instead he himself was sent backpedaling,
plastic wrist still within his grip.

Scratching his head he smirked. "I *had*
thought about beatin' y' over de back wit' dis..."

"Sukin syn [son of a bitch]!"* he exploded as
soon as he caught his breath and rolled to his knees, his good hand reaching
for his left shoulder. If there was one thing you didn't do, it was
mess with Krycek's prosthetic limb. Although he hated it at times,
it was still a badge of pride in a way. Weaknesses got you killed
in his profession, and so his survival was a testament to his skills.
But he couldn't attack Remy without risking damage to the limb...

An evil smile crossed his face. "Freeze,
ubl'yudok [bastard]." Leisurely, he climbed to his feet and walked towards
Remy with a deceptive casualness. And when he was face to face with
the man, Alex punched him in the gut, catching the prosthetic as it fell
from suddenly nerveless fingers.

Remy wasn't making any jokes now, there was
something about Krycek's smile that wasn't right. He had gone too
far. "Uhf!" As he took the punch. Bending with the force of
it, strands of auburn falling across his eyes.

Looking up with quiet expectance Remy slowly
straightened back up. So the arm was off limits. He wondered
if he could get the man to slip up, or open up, about it. Though
now wasn't the time to go questioning and it suddenly didn't seem so funny
any more.

The stone cold mask of the assassin was back
on Krycek's face after that flaring of temper. "Do not touch the
arm," he gritted out. Truth be told, he was disgusted at his loss
of temper, of letting personal emotions getting in the way. It had
happened before. And for a split second, he was back in the forest
in Tunguska, watching the peasants pull away his flesh and blood after
cutting through the bone with a white hot knife. And in that fraction
of a second he got angry, he let his emotions get control, he got sloppy,
and he made mistakes. Usually very painful ones. That was something
he couldn't afford to do now.

But there was a new problem. Most of the
advantage of the freeze was gone. It would take him three minutes
to reattach the arm in its shoulder harness. Three minutes he had
wanted to use to gain the upper hand on Remy. He could leave the
arm detached, but that would risk it being used as a club against him.
He needed the sense of balance it provided as well. Tucking it under
his left stump, Alex started to pull up his shirt sleeve, revealing the
straps that held the prosthetic in place. "What? No jokes about me
being unarmed?" he asked with grim humor.

Remy shook his head 'no' with a small smile.
Man reminded him of Logan who could go from murderous rage into cracking
bad puns in under a second. Almost bi-polar in one sense. Something
that always made it fun, pushing buttons just to see what they did.

Watching him begin to reattach it Remy bit his
lower lip. That would buy him baking-in-the-sun time. He could
feel the heat even waving up through the ground into his boot-like shoes.
He could feel every bead of sweat on his body when he closed his eyes and
truly concentrated.

He was right. It did take about three
minutes for him to get the arm back into place and strapped in. While
not exactly rattled to have an audience, it was still disconcerting.
Arm firmly back in place, Krycek glanced at the watch on his right wrist.
Only one precious minute of the freeze left before LeBeau would be free
to move.

Time to get to work then.

Without mercy, Krycek moved in, landing a fierce
kick to Remy's stomach, which was followed by a sucker punch to the gut.
Although it was tempting to get a little payback, Krycek still honored
the earlier request to leave his face alone. Besides, it would be
a sin to bruise something so pretty...

Remy gritted his teeth, keeping the grunts down
to mere hisses or escaped air between clenched teeth and bared lips.
Hit after kick after punch... he had been disapointed when he realized
his mistake in accidentally tearing the arm off and losing (or gaining?)
4 minutes of the freeze. He wondered if Krycek was making up for
lost time or if this is what he would have dealt out either way.

He didn't feel the bloody gashes as concentration
lay in standing as still as the brutish attack would allow. As the
mental count-down he threw his body into a right-then-left punch at Krycek's
lower abdomen, a clenched-teeth growl from his throat escaping. He
could feel and see the red gashes on his skin and clothes then. He
chose to ignore them.

The man could take a beating with the best of
them. And rebound from one, Krycek thought as the blows impacted.
He earned Krycek's respect. Spun around from the force of the punches,
Krycek stomped on LeBeau's instep before viciously swinging his elbow
back, intending to catch the mutant in the gut.

There had been times that he wondered why Mulder
was always beating him up with it was obvious that he'd rather be beating
him off. And Krycek was finding himself starting to understand that
mindset. The scent of blood, sweat and testosterone in the air was
getting to him as he locked his leg behind Remy, intending to sweep him
off his feet with a backward jerk of his foot. The move, bringing
them too close for effective punches, put them chest to chest and groin
to groin Staring into those oddly attractive red eyes, suddenly the
prospect of losing didn't seem to be such a bad thing to Krycek.

For a second Remy found himself returning the
stare into Krycek's deep pools of emerald. Then, never one to think
before leaping, he pressed his mouth against Krycek's. Not waiting
for his mouth to open but prying it open and sweeping his tongue in against
his.

There was never enough time for fun, Remy mentally
pouted at the possibly dangerous move he had just made. Pulling away
before Krycek could do something nasty (or pleasing?) he simultaneously
pushed his hips against Kryceks and brought his head and chest back to
slam his forehead into Krycek's.

Krycek stumbled back a few steps, but caught
his balance before could tip over, disoriented slightly by the blow to
the head and the kiss (he wasn't sure more by which). Now he wanted
more than ever to win, to claim his prize and feel those lips wrapped around
his cock. Forget the rumored technology to regrow his amputated limb.
Right now he'd be more than happy to claim LeBeau.

But first that meant winning the fight, hopefully
quickly. Using his long legs to an advantage, he delivered a roundhouse
kick, trying to catch Remy under his arms. If Krycek could get him
on the ground, it would be easier for him to continue fighting. Not
to mention claim his prize.

Despite a slight onset of 'wooziness' from the
heat Remy's reflexes still held true, catching the flying ankle heading
his way. Using the momentum Krycek had already given the kick he
twisted both his arms and torso to send Krycek onto the dusty Arizona dirt.

Straddling the man's thigh he sent a fist into
his ribs. He swayed a bit there before aiming another fist a few
inches above his crotch, into the bladder.

Alex let out a loud 'oof,' with each blow reverberating
through his back. Fortunately for him, Remy had knocked him over
onto his right side, so he was able to lever it underneath him. Praying
his bladder didn't let go and embarrass him, he arched back rapidly, slamming
the back of his head into Remy's forehead. It knocked the other man
back far enough so Krycek could roll onto his back and land a solid kick
to Remy's chest, knocking his opponent clear of his legs.

Remy went sprawling backwards, flat on his back.
Embarrassed at the slight onset of dehydration he wondered how long before
it finally did him in. He hoped Krycek did him in before the wooziness
could though.

Bringing his legs up over his head he then slammed
them back down and whiped his spine simultaneously to bring him back into
a crouch. A crouch that involved one hand to steady his vision before
realizing he was being much too slow...

Alex had scrambled to his feet. He was
starting to feel the effects of dehydration as well. He was sweating
profusely, blinking it out of his eyes almost constantly. But
he couldn't afford to pause to wipe it away. It had been a while
since he had fought an opponent so well matched to him, and wasn't about
to show Remy another weakness to exploit.

It was time to end this before the sun got to
both of them. He could see that LeBeau was off balance, and Krycek
was, if nothing else, and opportunist. Interlacing his fingers with
the ones of his artificial hand, he swung his arms down club like to land
two blows on Remy's back, one on each kidney.

The first blow sent Remy to his knees.
The second sent him to the ground, palms burning on the sand and arms slightly
shaking as he tried to hold himself up and throat burning as he gasped
for air. Part of him still wanted to kick ass, but his mind was having
trouble turning over all that kicking ass required. With a painful
grunt he gave up and let himself fall at Krycek's feet, smelling blood,
dirt, sweat, and defeat.

It felt strangley comfortable, laying in the
dirt and not moving one muscle as he waited for Krycek's decision in the
next second. Mother Earth held him, cradled and rocked him as his
mind swam with thoughts of the fight, his wounds, defeat... Krycek, who
he had adored for far too long from too far away... until now as he actually
lay at his feet.

Panting, Krycek, ever distrustful, watched Remy
carefully, expecting another trick. Realizing that the mutant was conceding
defeat, he let out a sigh and and finally wiped the sweat away from his
forehead. Now it was time to claim his prize. And despite the
bruises and blood, it was still a very attractive prize.

Reaching down with his right hand, he started
to jerk Remy to his feet. "Get up," he grunted. "We're not
going to be doing this out here in the sun." That was part of why
he had chosen a ghost town. At least some of the ruined buildings
would provide comfortable shade.

Remy obeyed, struggling to his feet and allowing
Krycek to half-lead, half-tow him towards one of the buildings. His
mind briefly turned onto the buildings... if this was a tourist attraction
surely... bingo! He smiled as they entered the ancient hotel/bar,
where a modern water-bottle vending machine shone like some angel was shining
a beam from heaven onto it.

Despite his exhaustion Remy suddenly stood straight
and hollered a 'hallelujah!' before smacking the side of the giant box.
It was plugged in, but no lights in or on it shone. Shrugging, Remy
leaned against the door where the thick lock was camoflouged. A few
twists of one of his lock pins and the door thonked open. Water,
meet your guzzlers.

Tossing Krycek a warm bottle he took one himself.
A few gulps later and he was running the back of his hand over his mouth,
eyeing Krycek with open hunger.

Krycek immediately popped off the lid of the
bottle, and swallowed half of it in one long gulp. He made a mental
note that Remy could pick a lock neatly and efficiently. He never
knew when information like that could come in handy. He also noted
the lustful look on Remy's face. Although common for the winner to
have his way with the loser, it was rare for the loser to actually want
it. And although Krycek was many things, he wasn't a rapist.
The fact that LeBeau was practically panting after him was adding a pleasant
bonus to the situation. This was going to be more fun than he'd had
in a while.

Leaning back against the wall, he took a deliberately
casual pose. But there was little casual about his voice. "Start
stripping," he ordered, letting his lust shine through his eyes.

Remy sat the bottle of water aside. He
always loved an audience, though it was a tad intimidating and... unerving
to have it be Krycek. Still, he made the best of it, and hoped he
pleased as he began moving. Slowly.

The shirt went first as he rolled his shoulders,
piercing eyes never leaving Krycek. Biting his lower lip, partly
for the act and partly from the pain that moving caused, his hands moved
up his own shirt until it went over his head and was dropped without a
second thought.

His spine and hips came into play now, painstakingly
running his hands down his sculpted chest and lithe abdomen.

Slowly, holding back hisses as he hit the painful
cuts, trails of smeared blood appeared afer his hard-pressing palms ran
over a few of the more serious wounds.

Meeting his pivoting, twisting hips, strong
hands tucked into the tight seams below his belly button. Mouth slackened,
eye brows lowered and a look of promising bliss caught his face as his
eyes bored into the audience.

He moved closer to Krycek now, his body never
quiting and eyes never breaking that intense stare. Standing mere
inches away from the man his look into that face was that close to a challenge,
head tilted, mouth open and threatening to devour Krycek as the sound of
his hands popping the button and zipper to his own jeans was heard.

Too soon he pulled away again, hands and the
actions he was putting his body through loosening the tight jeans and sending
them falling to the floor. The loose shorts weren't far behind.

Stripped, and forgetting about the shoes, Remy
slowed and then haulted his body. Standing nude and vulnerable in
front of the man he had dreamt of for months.

His stance was relaxed but his heart and breath
were difficult to control as he panted slightly through parted lips. One
hand 'rested' low on one thigh, the other pressed with splayed fingers
a few inches above his twitching crotch. Shoulders shifted and angled the
opposite of his cocked hips as his gaze nearly faltered, suddenly feeling
a bit too human and exposed.

Krycek, for the most part, kept his casual pose
leaning against the wall, bottle of water cradled by his left arm.
But his eyes, as well as other parts had been paying very close attention.
Pushing away from the wall, he walked in a slow circle around LeBeau, inspecting
him closely from all angles. He frowned when he saw the lacerations
on his stomach and back where his kicks had landed - there must have been
a piece of glass caught in his boots.

Krycek completed his circuit, coming back to
face Remy. "Now," he mused out loud. "What to do with you.
Aside from the obvious, that is." The bulge in his skin tight jeans
was very pronounced. Remy had fought well, picked the lock well,
and it was now time to see what other talents the man had.

The sound of Krycek undoing his zipper was unnaturally
loud even for being in an abandoned building. With one arm of flesh
and one arm of plastic, he wasn't nearly as graceful as Remy had been.
But still aware of those odd red eyes (he'd have to ask about them when
he got the chance) on him, he did manage to put on a bit of a show as he
shimmied out of his skin tight black jeans and underwear. The shirt
stayed on, covering the shoulder and prosthetic harness.

Krycek's right hand shot out, fingers tangling
in the lustrous locks at the back of Remy's head. He pulled the other
man into a fierce, claiming kiss so that Remy would know for certain exactly
who was in charge for the moment. Not that he thought the other man
would object, but it was part of Krycek's dominance ritual.

Remy was under no illusions who was top dog,
who had won the fight and who got to do the ordering. Who he was
reeling for.

As Krycek lay claim to his mouth he bent his
knees and angled his neck so Krycek was hovering over him even as Remy's
tongue expertly handled the searing kiss delivered to him.

Even bitter Rogue would recognize that for what
it was. A display of submission, lower-rank... trust and respect...
honor... loyalty...

Yes, Remy was just as talented at kissing as
he was in the other skills he had shown. Krycek's right hand loosened
off his neck and slid a deliberately sensuous path to his shoulder.
The rub of bare skin against bare skin was delightful, as was the feel
of his cock pressed against Remy's stomach. When the kiss broke,
Alex increased the pressure on his shoulder, forcing Remy to his knees.
LeBeau was a smart boy. He'd figure what Alex wanted without too
much prompting.

Remy gladly knealt before his obsession, attention
immediatly on what lay before him. Nostrils flared, inhaling the
sweet scent of his Krycek.

Nuzzling the length before him with the side
of his cheek, nose, and lips. He felt the throbbing warmth against
his face before turning his lips to the side of the head.

Soft, suckling kisses he planted there against
the tip of Krycek's erection. Sampling the small drops of pre-cum
before opening his mouth and taking him in. Swirling his tongue about
the tip, then scrubbing the bottom as he slowly swallowed the length.

Alex sucked his breath in sharply, his eyes
fluttering shut. Partially for balance, partially just so he could
feel him, Krycek rested a hand on Remy's head. He didn't need to
guide the other man at all. Just like he suspected, Remy was *very*
talented. Most defeated opponents would blow him to get it over with
and onto the next fight. Not this one, who seemed to be relishing
every moment. It had been a while since he had been with a man who
was as...enthusiastic as Remy was.

His breathing deepened as he was pulled deeper
and deeper into that hot mouth. "Oh yeah," Alex whispered, stroking
Remy's head. "Keep going," he urged, but he didn't think that Remy
would be stopping any time soon.

The gentle hand on his head sent a tiny blanket
of shocks through his scalp, his neck hair feeling stiff and cold.
It sent a shiver through his body despite the heat.

He kept going, keeping it slow as he eagerly
continued scrubbing the bottom half of Krycek with his tongue. As
room ran out he invited the man into his throat, lips stopping at the hilt
of his length. Moist and warm muscles behind the throat walls began
working, stretching and contracting around the intrusion.

Alex let out a ragged sigh, a tremor running
through his body. He knew that Remy had been willing, but he hadn't
expected him to be so eager. His hips rocked forward, pushing further
into that luscious mouth. His hands continued to rub against his
Remy's head, fingers combing through the auburn hair. He had expected
the victory sex to be as violent as the battle, but now he was reconsidering.

Remy completely relaxed. Relishing in
the fingers through his hair, the sounds that Krycek made, and his gentle
rocking as Remy worked his throat and tongue like so few could. Reaching
up he felt the smooth texture and curve of Krycek's hip and thigh.

His fingers danced, rubbed until the nimble
digits cascaded down the small of his back and over his ass. Parting
his cheeks and teasing the sensitive rose that lay there in wait.

Through the haze of cloudy bliss, Krycek's body
jolted at the sensation. He had made it a rule of his not to let
any of his defeated opponents have access to his body like this before,
not trusting them to do damage in retaliation. It seemed for this
extremely talented man he was breaking all the rules. Such as his
'never challenge the same person twice.' A second fight was usually
bloodier than the first, now that both opponents had first hand experience
with the other's fighting style. But if that meant he could get LeBeau's
mouth on his cock again (or vice versa - though he wasn't willing admit
it), Krycek would take the risk.

Remy felt the jolt and nearly pulled his hands
away in slight fear. No slap, no angry curses... he relaxed.

His charming mouth pulled away so his tongue
could reclaim what it desired. Snaking around the sides and bottom
of Krycek's length, pressing, folding, and doing some oral gymnastics as
Remy's other hand came up.

Fingers knowingly touched what was not in his
mouth. Back and forth they massaged, matching a rhythm that his probing
index was beginning to set.

Alex let out a long moan, his hips mindlessly
moving with the rhythm that Remy was setting. If he had known that
the other man was so talented and so enthusiastic, he would have challenged
him a long time ago. He arched downwards to stroke along Remy's spin.
He could feel his orgasm building, a smirk crossing his face.
Somehow he didn't think that Remy would be weaseling out, arguing that
he fulfilled his obligation. In fact, they might have a problem figuring
out exactly when they could stop fulfilling the obligation.

Remy could sense Krycek's building... appreciation,
for his talent. It seemed like it was going to end all too soon.
He wanted to hold on to this moment but knew he couldn't. Already
his mind had formed plans, excuses, accidents to keep this ... whatever
it was, going. He wasn't finished worshipping his Alex Krycek.
Not yet. And he had a feeling he wouldn't be for a long time.
It was better than he had ever dared to hope for.

Remy arched, nudged his spine into Alex' touch.
Like a cat barely moving into the pet of it's owner, yet seemingly staying
in place. He released a moan of his own, one that spoke of his anticipation.

Remy's moan, combined with the stimulation of
teeth and tongue and finger became too much. Hand curling around
his head to hold Remy firmly in place, Krycek's hips pumped faster into
the mouth so expertly teasing him. Alex's toes curled in his boots,
feeling his orgasm build. All he needed was one little nudge and...

Krycek through back his head with a loud yell
as he came harder than he had in a long time.

Remy's hands clenched onto Krycek's hips, following
every thrust into his inviting mouth. He came hard. Remy had
hoped he had been enough, though part of him had never doubted it.
As the seed shot down his throat Remy angled his tongue, diverting some
of it for his own taste and hunger. What he couldn't hold dripped
from the corners of his mouth.

He waited until every last drop had exhausted
itself from Krycek's body. Removing him from his mouth, he still
wasn't through. Lips and tongue went about cleaning his obsession
up, not leaving a single drop behind.

Licking his lips he looked up, seeking a pair
of heavy-hooded greens as his hand softly stroked a hip.

Alex swayed on the balls of his feet, staring
down at Remy. This would have been the point where the loser would
have pulled away. Retaliation after a fight meant an ejection from
the game, and so it was rare, but not unheard of. At most the usual
was a cool indifference. But here he was practically begging to be
fucked.

Which was a bonus, since that's exactly what
Krycek had in mind. He glanced around and spotted the old bar, practically
a cliche out of a western movie, and gestured towards it with his left
hand. "On the bar, on your back," he ordered and then raised an eyebrow.
"You didn't think I was done claiming my prize?"

The old bar top, he thanked whoever had done
it, was thankfully not that old. Smooth and not peeling or splintering.
Having splinters up and down his spine was not something he would be looking
forward to, and thanks to the owners of this ran-down and poor tourist
attraction he wouldn't have to.

He propped himself up onto the bar and then
lay down. Arms behind his auburn head made it easier to watch Krycek,
though also gave the wrong impression of Remy being relaxed and at ease.
He wasn't.

He had followed Remy over to the bar, admiring
his ass every step of the way. Krycek chuckled as he looked at Remy,
letting genuine humor and not his usual sarcasm reach his eyes as he took
in the reclining man's pose. "A bit cocky, aren't we?" he asked,
resting his hand on the taut stomach.

He could feel the tense muscles underneath his
right hand. Like he was trying to soothe a nervous horse, Krycek
lightly stroked the body before him, learning the play and flow of flesh
and bone. "Very nice," he said, staying above the waist for the moment.
Remy had his chance to please and tease him. Now it was Alex's turn.

Exposed like this, Remy's facade was immediatley
vanquished at that touch. Tense muscles jumped and eyes took in every
move of each finger as Krycek traced his flesh. Arms freed themselves
from behind his head, turning his gaze to the cieling but still aware of
where Krycek was every second. He shifted ever so slightly wherever
that touch went so as to yearningly arch into it.

Giving in with a sigh Remy closed his eyes,
head rolling back on the bar as he raised and stretched his shoulders.
Hands gripped the sides of the bar near his hips.

Alex smiled to himself as his hand continued
to explore Remy's abs. His eyes were locked on Remy's face.
He was curious about those odd red eyes. Solid, like the inky black
of the aliens or some of the possessed, but he had never seen in any of
the files that there were cases of red ones. He needed to know before
he got in too much deeper. And he was afraid that he was already
in too deep.

Stretching out, he crouched down and blew in
Remy's ear. "How about a little trade," he whispered in a smoky voice.
He made sure his hand continually caressed Remy's abdomen. Not that
he would have needed much prompting touch that washboard stomach.
"I'll tell you about my left arm if you explain your fascinating eyes."

Remy's mouth made a gasping 'o' as he felt his
cool breath on and in his ear. The whisper sent goosebumps down his
neck and arms. His eyes blinked open at the request, a smile coming
to play across his lips. His mind raced as he spoke.

"Dese mile-long lashes? Naturally grown,
chere." He turned to look Krycek in the eye, measuring his chances
of acceptance... he rarely hid the fact he was a mutant, but he had been
turned down before when another discovered the truth. Part of him
now was screaming to hide it, rejection here and now was something he didn't
want to risk.

Aside from the eyes, his gifts were easy to
conceal.

He smirked, relying on his lengendary (to his
team, at least) charm to pull him through. "Few mill'on bucks an
a few specialized docs can get y' anyt'ing."

Krycek chuckled softly against his neck before
biting down lightly. "Nice try, Remy. But I've seen quite a
few specialized doctors about this," he shrugged his left arm, "and although
there's been a lot of advances in medicine, they're nowhere near replacing
arms. Or eyes."

He settled at the side of the bar, roughly midline
of Remy's chest. His fingers skittered down lower across his abdomen,
skirting
his pubic hair and tickling down his thigh. "Others may have fallen
for that explanation, but I've been around." Clever fingers now reversed
their direction, now lightly dancing along the inside of his leg.
"So shall we try this again?"

Remy's breathing became uneven as Krycek teased
him and highlighted his lie. His fingers knew exactly where to brush
as Remy's lashes fluttered, tongue wetting his lips. The soft bite
on his neck still lingered as Remy looked toward the cieling once more.

He could lie. Again. Explain Krycek
was wrong... they could replace arms. The X-Men could, at least.
And eyes... he was sure Beast and Jean with Wolverine's blood could work
something out. But they all lead to one explanation. Who were
the X-Men? Mutants. The truth he was trying to avoid revealing.

He closed his eyes, not sure he wanted to see
Krycek's reaction written on his handsome face. With a steady and
firm voice he tore open his own heart and left it there for Krycek: "I'm
a mutant."

"Mutant," Krycek repeated, his hand pausing
as he considered. Mutant's hadn't been a concern of the Syndicate's
per se. Though aware of them, they were more concerned with having
humanity survive the oncoming alien invasion than deciding which version
of humanity would survive. That would have to wait until the aliens
were dealt with. He didn't believe half of what the 'top secret government
reports' about the 'mutant threat' that were being passed around politicians
and lawmakers were saying. They probably designed to manipulate the
ignorant and had the same level of truth as the ones he helped create about
the unlikelihood of a UFO threat.

His hand resumed his slow, ticklish stroking
as if it never paused. Mutant or not, the man was a good fighter,
something that Krycek admired. "That explains the eyes then."
If he had been possessed by a new type of purity control, the alien would
have jumped to him or attacked. Not come up with a lie that it could
easily be caught in. Krycek's mind started sorting over the facts
that he did know. Such as aside from some having different physical
differences from the norm (such as the oddly gorgeous red eyes he couldn't
help staring intently at), they were supposed to have other abilities -
only the imagination was the limit as to what they could be. "And what
is your...talent?" he asked, genuinely curious. And why hadn't Remy
mopped the floor with his ass. Mutants were supposed to be tougher
than humans. He was wondering now if the fight had been thrown.

Remy blinked. So the man accepted mutants?
He turned his head again to look at Krycek as he thought. The question
made him cringe slightly, Krycek obviously knew more about mutants than
Remy cared for... and more questions would be on their way, suspiscion,
the whole nine yards.

Reaching under the bar with his right hand he
searched, felt for some object and produced a shot glass. "Potential
energy," he eyed the dirty and chipped object. Faintly at first and
then with a brighter, excitable shade it glowed red, the red in his eyes
mirroring it's glow. "Kinetic energy." He held it a few more
seconds and then flicked his wrist up and out. The glass exploded
before it reached the wall.

"I make t'ings go boom."

He forgot to mention his charm, something that
had failed on Krycek more than just recently, making the fight and meeting
before it much more interesting to Remy than any previous encounter.
Forgot to mention his agility... something that would bring forth the obvious,
more questions... and something he didn't care to expose right now, the
reasons why.

Krycek chuckled again, grinning, highly amused
by the demonstration. "Where were you five years ago? You could
have made my life so much easier." After what he had seen working
for the Consortium, the horrors of their experiments with alien DNA had
jaded him so that nothing much surprised him any more. Not Mulder's
resurrection, not Scully's pregnancy, even the rumors of the death (yet
again) of the Cigarette Smoking Man had raised anything more than an eyebrow.
Krycek had himself been a host for an alien lifeform. Remy's ability
to manipulate and interchange matter and energy was something that roused
his curiosity, but didn't cause him any great worry, or at least not at
the moment.

Remy was clearly uncomfortable now that his
secret was out in the open. Or was there something more? Krycek
thought there may be, but it wasn't the time for questions now. Not
with this beautiful body spread before him, ripe for the taken. The
touch of his hand, which hadn't ceased it's searchings grew bolder and
more sensual. "I can either tell you how this," he shrugged his left
shoulder, drawing attention to the artificial hand, "happened, now.
Or," Alex's hand ghosted over the skin and hair next to Remy's impressive
cock. "I can tell you later." The implication of what they'd
be doing in the interim was crystal clear. "Your choice."

Remy inhaled sharply, fingers stretching out
at his sides and toes curling within the boots. Hips shifted, begging
for more. He wasn't sure he had enough blood in his skull to hear
Krycek if he began his story now. His mind was still reeling from
that exploring touch, being accepted, and the path Krycek's prize-taking
was turning.

After a moment and some further sensual touches
Remy gave up on any more reasoning thoughts and blurted in one husky and
exasperated breath, "Later."

He would have jumped the man there, taught him
how to tease and make love Cajun style. But it would have broken
the rules. He was Krycek's prize, now the other way around.
And he would wait. Patiently.

Krycek gave him another smile, hearing Remy's
response. Somehow he didn't think he would have been getting a different
answer. Not that he minded at all. There would be time enough
for talking afterwards. The fact that he wanted to talk was something
noteworthy in itself. The reason why was something he'd have to figure
out later.

Instead he decided to concentrate on the rosy
cock so proudly displayed before him. Still keeping his touch
light and teasing, now he stroked along the length instead of beside of
it, barely allowing the pad of his finger to caress it. His eyes
never left Remy's watching the mutant's expressions hungrily.

Remy's moist lips parted. His head wanted
to loll backwards, eyes wanted to roll closed. But he kept his gaze
firmly locked on the sparkling greens of Alex there-ought-to-be-a-law-against-looking-this-
damn-good Krycek.

The lower corners of Remy's eyes tightened,
wanting more but reminding himself about patience being... important or
something, hell if he could think now. His pronounced eye brows were
knitted in blissful concentration on the delicate touches below and the
hunter look in Krycek's gaze.

Krycek watched every flicker of expression on
Remy's face. Eyes hooded, he leaned down to lick the length of his
neck, tongue swirling around the bobbing adam's apple. He relished
the salty tang of the skin beneath his lips as he gently bit down.

And he felt himself...caring...for Remy.
He really hadn't given a damn about anyone since before Hong Kong.
Not watching Skinner die writhing in pain from the infestation of nanomachines
he controlled. Not when he manipulated Jeffrey Spender into his ill
fated rebellion against his father the Smoking Man in revenge for the loss
of his arm. Not even when he kissed Mulder in his apartment, more
of an act of messing with his mind than passion.

Remy sighed and moaned as he stretched his neck
before that knowledgable mouth. Despite himself, he felt his hand
on the back of Krycek's neck, fingers threading up into the jet black hair.
Short finger nails felt silky (though also slightly dusty) strands slip
undereath in passing.

This was turning out better than he had hoped
for. Better than most of his trysts, fights, or simple flings.
Better than spending his life pining away after a woman who had refused
to touch him or help him.

"Alex..." Remy breathed, paused as his fingers
worked deeper into his hair. "J'ai besoin de vous. [I need you.]"

He didn't understand the words, but the need
behind them was all too clear. Krycek turned his head and kissed
along his jaw, working his way towards those luscious lips. He had
only a brief taste of them during the fight, and he was more than eager
for another.

Alex's other hand came around to cradle Remy's
head, fingers working their way through the silken hairs. His first
brush of lip against lip was light, meant to be a tease. But all
thoughts of teasing flew out of his mind as he tasted Remy.

Remy could have done a teasing. He had
learned from the best at an all too young age about the fine arts of tease.
But he had waited for long, agonizing, nightmaring and day dreaming months
for this moment and he needed it too badly to wait through any more games.

Krycek's touches were becoming more and more
luscious, serene, and kind. Almost as if he weren't taking Remy as
a 'prize' so much as from a genuine want. That thought sped Remy's
heart up another notch as he felt the moist kisses along his jaw.

Remy's fingers tensed into the short and silky
strands as his lips met Krycek's. He pressed with thirst into that
hot mouth, delving deeply and passionatly.

Alex was surprised by the depth of the want
in Remy's kiss. And the depth in his own. Letting go of the
other man's body, Krycek hoisted himself onto the bar. There wasn't
room enough for them to lay side by side, so Krycek settled on top of Remy.
It almost felt like he was meant to be there.

The cotton of his shirt was the only barrier
between them. Alex wasn't ready to drop that barrier and let a potential
lover see the stump, the sign of his failure and weakness. Elsewhere
it was the press of skin against skin, something Krycek relished as he
resumed kissing Remy.

Remy arched his abdomen up to meet Krycek's,
flesh to flesh now and sharing a heat that wasn't the Arizona desert.
His ever seeking left hand lifted the hem of Krycek's shirt, snaking under
to render the finely turned muscles gracing the lithe spine.

The right hand joined it's counter part.
Tracing the muscle groups with finger tips as they made their way past
the small of Krycek's back, over his ass of granite and down the slopes
to his hips. Fingers and palms gripped there, his own hips pressed up and
he ground himself. Hard.

He had tensed slightly when the hand slipped
beneath his shirt. But Krycek relaxed as Remy explored him.
It had been a long time since anyone had touched him gently to bring him
pleasure. Most of the fighters just wanted to get him off quickly.
Remy seemed to be doing just the opposite, drawing the encounter out.

Alex did push downwards, wanting the maximum
contact with the mutant he could get. His hips began a slow grind
against the man beneath him, not resisting the impulse to tease him slightly
before things got more serious.